


White Walls

by beforeclocks



Category: Nathan Barley (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforeclocks/pseuds/beforeclocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the accident, Dan has to learn to cope again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> An old fic written in 2010. Posted here to keep things together.

White walls, white ceiling, white floor. Fuck, even the door is white.

Dan’s not sure how long he’s been stuck in this white hell hole. He’s not even really sure what the ‘white hell hole’ actually is. There seem to be a lot of women in white coats. He’s guessing it’s either a hospital or a mental institution. 

He doesn’t feel mental, but he supposes if he was mental he probably wouldn’t be aware of it. Surely it you were mental, it’d feel normal in your own brain? 

But then he has to stop thinking about that because it makes the bit behind his eyes hurt.

Which makes him think he’s probably not mental and probably is in a hospital. If he was mental he wouldn’t feel pain, would he? But if he was in a hospital he probably would. 

Dan’s not sure why he’s in the hospital. 

*

A woman in a white coat comes in and tells Dan he’s got a visitor. A few seconds later someone Dan doesn’t recognise walks in. The nurse smiles at him before backing out of the room and shutting the door. 

‘Alright Dan?” the man asks. 

Dan nods, frowning at him, trying to work out why he might have come to see him in this hospital. 

The man frowns back. “You don’t know who I am, do you?” 

He’s got slightly long black hair and really blue eyes. Something about his eyes is familiar to Dan. They’re kind looking, as though all they really want to do is help him. But Dan can’t imagine why this man would want to help him. He shakes his head slowly. 

The man sighs, shuffling from foot to foot. 

“Well, I brought you somethin’, anyway. If you want it?” 

Dan nods, because he’s not sure what to say. 

The man delves into the carrier bag he’s holding and pulls out what looks like a large piece of card. He looks at all four walls before looking back at Dan. 

“I’ll ask a nurse to put this up, yeah?” 

He is in the hospital then. 

“What?” It’s the first thing he’s said since he’s been in here. 

His voice comes out croaky and cracked. 

“It’s a calendar,” the man tells him, instantly brightening as soon as Dan showed the smallest bit of interest. “I figured you wouldn’t know what day it was; this’ll help!” 

The man’s grinning as he pulls something else from his bag. 

“This is a clock. Cos there’s not much point having a calendar if you don’t know how many hours in a day," he laughs nervously. 

“Twenty-four.” Dan says, instantly, and then feels stupid. The man just smiles weakly at him, setting the clock down on Dan’s bedside table and holding up the calendar, indicating to a square in the middle of the page. 

“This is today, alright?” 

Dan nods. He doesn’t feel capable of saying anything. 

“Alright,” the man says again, looking uncomfortable once more, “I’m gonna go now ‘kay? I’ll come back another time. Bye.” 

Dan doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t really want the man to leave. Which is stupid because he doesn’t even know who he is! 

The man waves before shutting the door very slowly. Dan hears voices outside his door. He guesses it’s probably the man and a woman in a white coat. He blocks out their voices, rolls onto his side and watches the numbers on the clock change from 11:23 to 22:09. 

*

Dan has marked off six days on his calendar. On the seventh day, at fourteen minutes past twelve, a nurse comes in and tells him he’s got a visitor. 

Dan sits upright, pulling the covers right up under his chin. 

There’s a soft knock on the door before it agonisingly slowly opens and a shifty looking Jones steps into the room. 

“Hey,” he mutters quietly, looking anywhere but at Dan. 

Dan nods and mumbles something under his breath. 

Jones sighs, not moving any further into the room. 

“You still don’t know who I am, ‘eh?” 

“What?” Dan feels very confused. 

“Do you know who I am, Dan?” 

“You’re… Jones?” Dan wonders if he’s being tricked. 

Jones’ face splits into a grin then and he takes a couple of step forwards, collapsing into the chair beside Dan’s bed, and meeting his eye, if only for a short while before he looks away again. 

“Why wouldn’t I know who you are? I’ve lived with you for over five years.” Dan still doesn’t quite get what’s going on. 

“You forgot me last week.” 

“Huh?” 

Jones sighs again. “Who’d you think got you that calendar?” he indicates to where it’s hanging beside his bed. 

“I just thought it was just something they had in hospitals…” Dan mumbles, feeling monumentally stupid. 

“Nah, it was me. Last week. I came in and everything. Do you really not remember?” 

Dan shakes his head. 

“Oh, Dan.” Jones sounds pained, more pained than Dan feels, and it looks as though tears are forming in his eyes. Dan looks away for a second, really not wanting to see Jones cry, and when he looks back Jones seems perfectly fine again. 

He stands up quickly, still looking anywhere but Dan’s face and, by now, this is starting to worry the older man. 

“I’ll come back tomorrow. See ya.” 

He’s gone so quickly Dan doesn’t even get a chance to say good-bye. 

He feels a little bit broken inside. 

*

True to his word, Jones comes back the next day. Ten forty, this time. Dan smiles at him as he sits down, but thinks it probably came out more like a smirk. 

“I got you this.” 

Jones hands him a square parcel, wrapped in shiny purple wrapping paper. Dan carefully tears it open at one end and pulls out what’s inside. 

It’s a small, brown, notebook and a gold pen, which looks expensive, but Dan thinks is probably fake. 

“They said I couldn’t give you fountain pens, cos, you know…” he sounds apologetic and 

Dan looks at him curiously. 

“What do I know?” 

Jones looks confused, before realisation suddenly dawns. 

“You mean they ain’t even told you why you’re in here? Didn’t you even think to ask why your leg’s in a cast and you’ve got tubes comin’ outta each arm?” 

Dan feels embarrassed, as though he’s a small child being chastised for putting his elbows on the table. 

“We- I don’t talk to the nurses.” 

Jones is taken aback, looking nervous as he asks: 

“What do you mean?” 

“They’re too…” Dan searches for the right word, “friendly.” 

“Oh, and I’m a horrible bastard, am I?” 

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Dan sighs and tries again, “You’re more natural, they're always talking, but I don't want to talk. I just want to…” 

"Want to, what?" Jones is looking at him now, really looking, as though he's trying to read Dan's mind. 

"Get out of here," Dan finishes and Jones nods slowly, pulling his chair slightly closer to the bed. He fixes his eyes on Dan, looking at him with an intense stare. 

“Do you wanna know why you’re in here?” 

Dan nods, unable to break the eye contact. 

“Well, I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell you, but alright,” Jones pauses, wondering how best to phrase it. 

“You jumped out a window, Dan.” 

In the end he decides on putting it bluntly. 

Dan doesn’t twitch, doesn’t seem to falter and Jones wonders if he even heard him. 

“Dan-“ 

“Why?” Dan cuts in. 

Jones shrugs, “Dunno mate. Shit, sorry Dan. I probably shouldn’t a told you. Shit, shit, shit.” 

Jones pushes the chair back and grabs his jacket off the back of it. He doesn’t smile or wave, he doesn’t say good-bye, he doesn’t even pause to close the door quietly behind him. 

*

Later that day, Dan asks the friendly nurse why he’s in the hospital. She smiles sadly at him, fluffing up his pillows, but tells him, much more subtly than Jones, the damage he caused to his body, and his mind.


	2. Two

Dan spots the man walking towards from across the room and hopes he’s actually walking to someone behind Dan. Which is highly unlikely, considering Dan is in the corner of the bar. The man stops beside Dan and grins down at him. 

"Alrigh’ mate? Mind if I sit here? Only I’ve had enough of dancing and I reckon I’m a bit too trashed to stay standing much longer."

Dan grunts and the man pauses before deciding that probably means yes. He sits directly below the light coming from overhead so Dan can have a good look at him for the first time. His black hair is streaked with blue and red, his tee-shirt is a little too tight and his jeans look brand new. Dan really hopes he doesn’t want to have a conversation.

But life is never that kind to Dan Ashcroft. 

Half an hour later, Dan is surrounded by empty bottles. He thinks it’s probably an achievement that only just over half of them are his.

Jones – as it had turned out the man’s name was - has been talking non-stop, but Dan has only half been listening. He caught a few bits and gathered that Jones was a DJ, although Dan was questioning just how popular he actually was, and had kicked out his old house mate, a fellow DJ, after the guy had insulted Jones’ style. 

Dan tries to look at his watch without being notice, but it seems Jones is paying more attention to Dan than Dan is to him. 

"You got somewhere to be, mate?"

 _No_ , Dan thinks, _I just want to get very drunk, very quickly, on my own_ , but he doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head.

"Cool. So, you gonna say anything, or do I have to do all the talking?"

"You seem to quite enjoy talking," Dan replies.

Jones laughs at that. "You could at least tell me your name?" his eyes twinkle with delight.

"Dan. Ashcroft," he adds, when Jones continues to stare at him.

"What do you do? Where do you live, near here or what?"

"Journalist. Not living anywhere right now."

Jones keeps looking at him quizzically, as though he’s trying to figure out what Dan means, so Dan takes pity on him and says,

"Staying on friends’ couches at the moment. Haven’t got enough money."

Jones nods. "I’ve got a couch. I’ve got a bed, even.”

Dan hopes he’s joking. Dan really hopes he’s joking. There’s no way he can agree to live with a guy he’s not even know for an hour. But then... it would be nice to sleep in a bed for once, and to always know where he’s heading back to after a night in the pub.

Jones doesn’t seem put out by Dan’s hesitation,

"Give me your phone."

Dan wrestles it out of his jeans pocket and cautiously hands it over. Jones punches in a number and hands it back to Dan.

"Call me whenever, alrigh’? I’m off for another dance, catch you later."

Jones saunters off with a smile before Dan get say anything, leaving him sitting alone at the table, wondering what the hell just happened.

*

Dan spends the next two days opening the number on his phone and hovering his finger over the ‘call’ button. At two in the morning, after a night of drinking, he finally presses it.

\---

"...And I made up the bed for you, with new sheets and everything-"

"Jones," Dan cuts in, "Stop fussing, I'm fine."

As he says it, Dan stumbles, having to grab onto Jones' upper arm to stay standing.

"Yeah, sure. Think you can manage it into the house without me, then?" Jones grins.

"Shut up."

Jones laughs, fumbling for the keys in his pocket and trying to hold Dan upright at the same time.

Once they're inside, Jones deposits Dan on the couch. "Do you want anything? Coffee? Tea?"

"Gin?" Dan asks, with a pleading look.

"Nice try. No more alcohol for you, doctor's orders. I'm gonna throw it away tomorrow."

Dan mutters something obscene under his breath, but Jones chooses to ignore him, instead going into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

*

Jones appears in the living room doorway, carrying a tray laden with food. He sets it down on the coffee table in front of Dan and steps back, chewing on his bottom lip, obviously nervous about what Dan will say.

"I didn't know you could cook."

Jones shrugs, "never needed to before, never bothered."

Dan gratefully takes the tray, resting it on his lap. Jones sits down next to him but pressed against the armrest, right on the edge of the seat. 

"Aren't you eating," Dan asks, setting his fork back down slowly.

Jones shakes his head, "Nah, m'not hungry." 

As Dan eats he wonders why he knows so little about Jones. They've been living together for years. Most people would know things about their house mate by now. The only thing Dan knows about Jones is his name.

"'Kay?" Jones asks, after Dan has set down his empty plate.

"Thank you," Dan smiles slightly. 

"You feelin' okay?" Jones asks with a grin.

Dan reaches over and punches Jones, lightly, on the arm. Jones just laughs, pushing himself off the couch and groaning as he stretches out his legs. 

"Do ya mind if I turn on the decks?"

"Go ahead."

As he lies there, listening to the harsh beats in Jones' music, Dan feels himself drifting to sleep...

*

Dan is falling, falling, falling. As he falls images are flashing up, but he's moving too fast to see anything, only register that they are bright and very colourful. Dan feels sick as he falls, wondering when it will end, but at the same time wants to keep falling forever – he knows there's no way he will land un-harmed after falling from such a height at such a speed.

*

Later that evening, while Jones is cooking dinner, the phone rings. Dan reaches over, wincing a little at the pain, to answer it.

"Daniel!"

His mother's voice is unmistakable, shocking Dan fully awake. 

"Hello, mother."

"Daniel, I was only phoning to check you were okay. With Claire being up here and you being alone-"

"I'm not alone."

"Pardon?"

"I'm not alone. Jones is here."

"Jones, dear?"

"Yes mother, Jones. I've been living with him here for six years."

"Oh, of course, Jones."

Dan knows his mother is lying. It's not that she doesn't remember Dan mentioning Jones, as such; just that she lives in the false knowledge that Dan is earning a lot of money and living in a posh house in London.

"Anyway," she continues, "I was only going to suggest that you come up here too, and stay with us. I'd be able to look after you while you... recover."

Dan notices the slight pause and frowns.

"Jones is looking after me."

"I know dear, I'm sure he's doing a fine job but, well, he's not exactly you're mother, is he?"

Dan grits his teeth, trying very hard to stay pleasant.

"I'm fine, honestly. I don't need any looking after; I'll call you if I need to. I've got to go now. By mum."

"Bye Daniel, I'll call you another time."

Dan groans and throws the phone across the room. The crunch it makes as it hits the wall opposite isn't nearly satisfying enough.


	3. Three

Jones bursts through the door, stumbling and hiccupping. The door slams shut and he turns to shush it, pausing for a second before he giggles at himself.

He staggers through into the lounge, where Dan is reading, still giggling to himself.

"Dan, hey. Hey, Dan..."

Dan closes his eyes briefly; he really doesn't have the patience to deal with Jones drunk and excitable.

"Dan? Daaaaan..."

Dan opens his eyes and starts when all he sees is Jones' saucer sized blue eyes, only a few inches from his.

His pupils are large - much larger than usual – and Dan concludes that he's probably being doing pills again.

Dan ignores Jones, pushes past him – wincing as his back noisily protests – and heads towards the bathroom. 

"Dan? Come on, don't be a grumpy bastard."

Jones dashes towards Dan, leaping in front of the bathroom door and gripping the handle. His grinning madly with eyes shining and hair plastered to his face. He looks ridiculous, Dan thinks, but he just grunts and tries to push Jones out of the way but the smaller man is having none of it. He just continues to smirk up at Dan as he bounces on his toes.

Dan doesn't want to resort to whining or begging but he's getting a bit desperate for a piss and Jones is starting to really annoy him.

"Dan?" 

The cheeky tone to his voice is obvious. Dan closes his eyes and counts to ten, very slowly. When he opens them Jones is still there, and no less annoying.

Dan doesn't know what to do, so he just stares at Jones – who looks like he's about to throw up – and hopes that he'll leave him alone.

But Jones just stares back, eyes wide and hardly blinking. Dan begins to feel uncomfortable; he's suddenly very aware that there are only, at most, a couple of inches between their bodies. Jones seems to have noticed too, as he glances down between them and then back up into Dan's eyes.

Dan swallows. Jones smirks.

Then, without any real warning, Jones lunges forwards. Dan starts, goes to pull away but ends up banging his head against the wall. The younger man doesn't seem to notice, just crushes his mouth against Dan's.

Without thinking, Dan grabs Jones' shoulders, spins them both around and slams Jones against the door. Jones gasps into Dan's mouth, suddenly - for all his suggestion and sly glances not two minutes ago - completely submissive.

Dan still isn't thinking as he runs his hands under Jones' tee-shirt and along the contours of his back. Jones sighs at the action, sagging against Dan, their lips still pressed firmly together.

Then Dan's brain catches up with his instinct.

He's only just slumped into the couch cushions, head cradled in his hands, when Jones coughs from the lounge doorway.

Slowly, Dan lifts his head. Apart from the fact that his eyes still look slightly out of focus, nothing about Jones' features are giving away his emotions. But, from the way his arm are crossed and his fists tensed, Dan's going to assume he's angry.

"Listen-"

Dan cuts himself short, expecting Jones to cut in – or possibly jump forwards and hit him – but all he does is cock his head. Dan takes a deep breath.

"You're... drunk. You're not thinking about what you're doing. And even if you were, it's a stupid idea. I'm a bloke, you're a bloke. You don't even like me in that way. This is... stupid."

Dan's surprised Jones hasn't said anything yet; his style is usually a lot more upfront and aggressive. But all he can do now is wait, scuffing his feet on the worn carpet, for Jones to say something. Anything.

Just when Dan is about to look up and see if Jones is still standing there he hears a sigh. His head snaps up, meeting Jones eyes instantly.

Another sigh. "I'm... going out."

"You- what?"

Jones gives him the most withering look imaginable and Dan feels suddenly very, very small.

Jones swiftly turns on his heel before Dan can even being to think of a condescending or sarcastic comment, and slams the front door behind him before Dan has a chance to move.

*

In that gap between sleep and full consciousness, Dan hears the faint noises coming from the hallway. It sounds like two people talking; one of the voices is definitely Jones' but the other... the other is deep and quieter, seeming to rumble through the thin walls.

Something inside Dan writhes in protest.

Then the talking stops for a few minutes (although there is a faint thud against a wall). Dan strains to hear, but the couple have gone quiet, until there's a giggle from Jones and the door bursts open.

Jones' cheeks are flushed apple red, his expression is a mixture of shock and embarrassment, and the bloke behind him – who's taller than even Dan – is definitely groping Jones' arse. 

Jones can't seem to break his gaze away from Dan, but Dan himself is looking anywhere but Jones. He finds himself staring at the big hand stroking the back of Jones' jeans.

"Are we going to stand here all night?"

Dan doesn't like the guys tone.

"No... No..."

He also doesn't like the look in Jones' eyes when he turns to look at the guy.

Without a backward glance Jones follows the tall man out of the lounge and up the stairs. Dan doesn't hear anymore talking after that. Not to say there isn't any noise, or that he doesn't lie awake all night listening to it.

 

\---

 

"I made you soup."

Dan grunts, half-heartedly, and waves an arm in the general direction of the coffee table. Jones scowls at the back of his head, making sure he spills as much soup as possible onto the rim of the bowl. That'll teach him.

The problem with Jones, Dan has always thought, is that he's too nice. Even when he's trying to be a bastard he comes across as more kind than your average idiot. Not that Jones is an idiot – far from it – but he's had a lot of shit in his life (more than Dan, he admits to himself, begrudgingly, on occasion) and if that hasn't made him a pillock, well... Dan has to conclude them some people really are just nice by nature.

The next thing Dan hears is the feedback as Jones turns his decks on, and then nothing for what must be close to an hour, apart from the steady thud in the floorboards.

Then Jones is storming across the small room and tugging so hard on Dan's arm the bigger man rolls off the couch and hits the floor with a thump.

He peers up at Jones, through slightly bleary eyes,

"What the hell was that for?"

Jones glowers down at him with jaw and fists clenched, making his muscles bulge. Dan tries his best to ignore him and picks himself up off the floor. Just before he's fully righted himself Jones shoves at his left shoulder, causing him to fall again, this time onto the couch.

"You're such a bastard, you know that?"

Dan opens his mouth to answer, but it turns out that it was a rhetorical question, and Jones has, in fact, got a lot more to say.

"No, you listen to me Dan. You're a complete and utter bastard: You're grumpy and moody and lazy and angry and I'm sick of it. Over these past few weeks – heck, over these past few years – I've tried so hard to bloody cheer you up a bit, to maybe make you feel a bit better about yourself and all the other fuckers we all have to put up with during our God forsaken lives, but you're so unbelievably ungrateful that you can't even be bothered to eat the fucking soup I made for you. Y-"

Dan's had enough of being shouted at, and finally manages to cut into Jones' insults. "This is about soup? You're shouting at me over bloody soup?"

"IT'S NOT THE SOUP!" Jones screams, daggers in his eyes, cheeks flushed red. "You don't get it, you idiot. This isn't about you not eating the soup; this is about what the soup... what the... what the soup stands for!"

Jones would look proud of himself for that particular figure of speech, if he wasn't so furious. And Dan would find it amusing, how Jones is actually quite poetic, no matter what he comes across like, if he wasn't annoyed with Jones' continued humiliation of him. 

Though, Jones seems to have stopped now. Not calmed down; he still looks ready to murder, but at least he's stopped screaming.

Dan doesn't like the way he's stopped talking altogether. It's disconcerting, to put it frankly.

They stay how they are for a while; Dan sitting on the edge of the drooping sofa cushion, and Jones standing, legs slightly apart and arms by his side. He closes his eyes at one point, and doesn't open them for what seems like ages. 

Then, finally, Jones sighs and Dan is transported back to that night a couple of years ago, with such a strong sense of déjà-vu that he almost can't place it. It's a memory he worked hard to block out, but now Jones, with all his screeching and anger, has brought it right back to the surface of Dan's mind. 

Dan doesn't say anything as a response; knows there's no point, that Jones will take anything he says in the wrong way. All he can think to do is sit and wait, and hope that Jones calms down. 

He chances a glance upwards but only ends up regretting it. Jones is looking at him like you would a cat that's been hit by a car right outside your front door. A kind of detached sadness, that you'll probably soon forget about, so long as the cat is gone before you come home again.

"I don't know what to do anymore," he sighs, shaking his head subconsciously. The he turns on his heel and is out the door in seconds. 

Dan scowls at his retreating back, even though he knows it's entirely his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately this is as much of this fic as I ever wrote. However, I do still have the entire plot in my head and so I might finish it at some point, if the muse allows me to, because I really fell in love with this.


End file.
